


A fear of wolves and counting stars

by choppedmint (forevermint)



Series: The Road Not Taken [1]
Category: The Morganville Vampires - Rachel Caine
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-18 09:37:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21641989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forevermint/pseuds/choppedmint
Summary: ORIGIN "Entranced: A fear of wolves and counting stars”: This was something mentioned in canon and while it could have been Myrnin making metaphors I decided to take it as an actual occurrence. This was one of the stories which didn’t turn out exactly how I wanted it, but is still acceptable.
Series: The Road Not Taken [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558276
Kudos: 2





	A fear of wolves and counting stars

One, two, three, four … It was easy, in Myrnin’s mind, to count stars. There was a cluster, just below that tree branch, which he was particularly familiar with. Along with it, there were several just along the horizon line. They were beautiful pinpricks in the sky, left by some goddess, planted in some garden of the gods. Or maybe someone had dashed some water across the expanse above him and these were the scattered drops left over from a long-ago rainstorm. It was such a mythical and wonderful world above him. Why would anyone need anything else other than the stories he could make up within his own head about them?  
Seven, eight, nine.

A wolf howled in the distance, but the little boy payed them no mind. A hand was stretched out, pointing up into the darkness above him and tracing the expanse. He couldn’t have been older than eight. His hair was a tangled mass around his shoulders. His clothing was old, hand-me-down would have been generous, but he had never known better clothing. Resting by his side was a long stick, which he’d ended up chipping several times. But the duty that went with the stick wasn’t being minded, nor did he even remember what he was supposed to do right now.

Another wolf howled, closer this time. The boy blinked, sitting up and looking around. He was on the top of a hill right now, mostly cleared of underbrush by his charges. It was only as he looked around that he remembered these charges. Chewing on his lip, he got to his feet. He didn’t have any light; other than what he could pick out from the darkness, he couldn’t see much. The fear of the dark had not grounded itself so firmly in him yet, so while he looked around, he wasn’t scared. Just wary.

He couldn’t see the white shapes in the darkness, but after several steps down the hill he found them on the other side. He relaxed, smiling with relief. There were wolves about, but he had no desire to scare them off. Truthfully, he was more afraid of the wolves than he was of the dark. But if they came, he would have to swallow that fear and find a way to protect his family’s livelihood.

He counted the white shapes under his breath. Then, eyebrows knitting, he counted again. He wouldn’t have been surprised to be short a couple, but there was one missing. A couple would have meant he hadn’t found another knot of sheep, who were probably sleeping a bit away from the main group. But one missing was a bit more worrying. He wondered where it had gone.

Looking up at the sky again, he tried to find his favorite star. He tried not to have favorites, but this one was very handy in helping him tell where he was within the night. The closer it was to the horizon, the nearer day was. It was almost directly overhead, however. There was still a long time ahead.

Descending the hill, he skirted the edge of the woods. Peering into it, he tried to find any white shape. But there were just the dark grey outlines of bushes. Myrnin would have rounded the hill, checking the other side, but movement caught his eye. Too fast for a sheep. He’d spooked something. His grip tightened on the wood in his hands, shoulders tensing. It could have been a lot of things, but it didn’t afford to assume. He swallowed, then banged his sick loudly against a tree several times. The _crack, crack, crack_ rang out into the night.

He must have waited there for several long minutes, eyes straining to see if there was something else within the dark. But nothing. He banged his stick against the tree several times before slowly moving away. The other sheep was still important to find.

Bounding around the hill, Myrnin breathed out sharply and came to a halt. He’d spooked something else – or possibly the same thing – and he saw it racing away, back into the safety of the trees. But this time he’d gotten a look at what it was. He was familiar with the lean shape of the wolves, running with graceful, deadly strides. There was every chance that it was a member of a pack. The missing sheep might have been picked out of the herd, but that would have set the others off. Maybe it was disconnected from the main herd and thus they weren’t aware of what had probably happened. But Myrnin didn’t really know what to do now. He had nothing to truly scare them off, they’d gotten too close. He ran back up the hill, looking around to try and spot the dark outline of where the trees ended, and the cleared area of his family’s home began. But the light was out. It would take too long to get help.

He turned back to look at the woods. Then he started to scream, making as much noise as possible. It was the only thing he could think of, and it wasn’t that hard to vent his fear into the noise. The fear of the wolves, the budding fear of the dark, the fear he would be punished for loosing one sheep and the worse punishment if he lost more. If he could spook one wolf, then he could spook the others, right?

He made noise until his voice was hoarse and then banged his stick against the trees until it broke. The sheep were disturbed by his exclamations, but he at least could keep them together.

It was almost dawn before he gave up. If it didn’t work after that, he couldn’t do anything else. He’d seen the haunting shapes through the rest of the night. He would have, now pale pink touched the horizon, jumped at shadows. There was nothing to do about the continued sound of howling in the distance. It just served to make the hairs on his arm stand out. Maybe things would be okay now.

He looked up at the last of the stars in the sky and went back to counting them.

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGIN "Entranced: A fear of wolves and counting stars”: This was something mentioned in canon and while it could have been Myrnin making metaphors I decided to take it as an actual occurrence. This was one of the stories which didn’t turn out exactly how I wanted it, but is still acceptable.


End file.
